Oblivious And Blind
by Elfprinzess
Summary: Everyone knew Sherlock was unable to tolerate those who were blind to the truth, and oblivious to the true actions of people, and he made that clear. So when the police met John, and found out just what was different about him, no one believed he was really with Sherlock, because really, who would want to be with Sherlock? Established relationship, AU from the series


**Hey y'all! So I found this story on my computer, and decided as an award to myself because of all my study for my final year at high school :), I'll finish it and post it to share.**

**It's an AU, and contains Sherlock and John in a relationship. Nothing explicit, no swearing or anything like that...just some Scotland Yard idiots being idiots :)**

**Please read, enjoy and let me know your thoughts on it :D**

* * *

Everyone knew Sherlock was unable to tolerate those who were blind to the truth, and oblivious to the true actions of people, and he made that clear. He wasn't one to hesitate when sharing his observations, revealing secrets and hidden truths with his blunt words and sharp tongue. He made his opinion of feelings and the people he saw as idiots clear and did what he wanted, without a thought for anyone else.

This lack of tact and lack of emotion meant that when Sherlock applied for personal leave, the police were all shocked.

Sherlock had met with the Chief Superintendent three years ago, who had been ordered from higher up the ranks to accept Sherlock's offer of consultant work. And with that, Sherlock was on the Met's pay check, but with much more flexible hours and rules. He consulted on cases that the police were stuck on, and was paid a regular salary, with paid leave and all that, and had complete access to the labs, files and cold cases, and he could work from home or Scotland Yard. Until the change, Sherlock had just come when invited, and Lestrade had kept it quiet, but the man had suddenly changed his mind one day, and when asked he merely shrugged and said it benefited the Work.

Sherlock was on leave for three weeks, then turned back up, just as spontaneously had he had left and continued working as nothing had happened.

Needless to say, the yarders were confused and suspicious.

"Look freak, you can't just take personal leave to swan off and take a break, it's for when something is actually wrong with family." Sally began, "So where were you?"

Sherlock looked up from the microscope and frowned at Sally. "Someone close to me required my assistance for a few weeks. It was approved leave."

"Approved my ass, who'd you bribed to get that excuse accepted?"

Sherlock's phone beeped, and he pulled it out, reading the message. "I'm so sorry, dear Sally," the sarcasm was heavy in Sherlock's voice. "I am required elsewhere." Sherlock turned the light under the microscope off and turned the computer off. He stood and slipped on his coat and scarf.

"We haven't finished talking yet." Sally protested.

Sherlock just walked away.

* * *

"Mycroft." Sherlock sneered, entering the lounge room to find his brother seated on the couch. He moved into the kitchen and pulled two cups out. Mycroft got up and walked in to study his brother.

Mycroft paused, expecting a scathing remark that never came, "Are you alright Sherlock?" He asked, genuine concern on his face, albeit, hidden concern.

"Perfectly fine, dear brother, although, you might need to go get some new clothes soon, your stomach is showing over your pants." Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft sighed, "And you return." He seemed to mentally shrug and recollect himself. "How is –"

"None of your business." Sherlock interrupted him.

"I am merely checking up on yourself and his condition, it cannot be easy, re-adjusting and he might need help with his emotions, help you cannot provide." Mycroft continued.

"Do not pretend to care, what do you want?"

"I am merely expressing my concern over the fine doctor's health."

"Sher?"

Sherlock looked over to the hallway which he could hear his doctor walking down. "Leave Mycroft, I'm not helping you. John needs me here to help him."

Mycroft sighed and turned to leave, he paused at the door, "I'll admit to superior motives, in visiting you Sherlock, but I am concerned for Dr Watson's health, he is a good influence on you, I do not want you to lose that."

"Piss off." Came the reply.

Mycroft sighed and left. As he was leaving he heard John say, "Be nice to your brother, Sherlock. Next time offer him a drink."

"Be careful of the boxes out." Came Sherlock's reply, avoiding the whole topic of his brother.

* * *

Mrs Hudson had been away when Sherlock had been ready to move in; she had left the key with him a week before and apologised for not being there to help.

A week after Sherlock had moved into 221B Baker street with John, Mrs Hudson returned from her sister's place and just left her suitcase in her bedroom before heading upstairs to greet Sherlock and meet the man he was sharing the rent with.

She knocked on the door and called out, "Sherlock dearie? It's me!"

"The door's open." Sherlock's voice called out. Mrs Hudson entered, and sighed at the mess. Piles of books, papers, files and objects littered the place, shoved into messy piles along the walls. She was lucky there was a path way around the couches and to the kitchen. She headed that way, entering the kitchen, expecting to find Sherlock at the table, doing something science-y. What she did see surprised her. A short, blonde man was sitting on the chair, shirtless as Sherlock was kneeling, redressing an obviously new wound on the man's shoulder. The stitches were black lines against the red puffiness of healing skin.

"Oh, so sorry, I can leave and come back later?" Mrs Hudson offered.

"It's fine." The blonde man grinned at her. He held out his hand to shake, his good arm, as Sherlock reattached the bandages. "John Watson."

Mrs Hudson shook it. "I'm Mrs Hudson, the landlady. I'm so sorry for not being here when you moved in, but my sister needed some help around the house, her husband just left her, you see."

"That's fine, Sherlock and I coped on our own just fine." John grinned.

"That's a nasty wound you have." Mrs Hudson commented, as Sherlock finished and handed John his shirt. Sherlock stood, and moved to kiss Mrs Hudson's cheek, before continuing into the lounge room.

John carefully pulled his top back on and grinned wryly in her direction. "It's not as bad as it looks." He half shrugged. "It's a pleasure to meet you finally, I'm glad Sherlock was able to help you with your husband."

"So am I." Mrs Hudson smiled warmly at the kind man. "How did you two meet? If you don't mind me asking?" Mrs Hudson asked, moving to begin washing the dishes in the sink.

"I was in the army, as a doctor, and I was sending a letter to my sister, and it got redirected to Sherlock's address by accident, actually. He responded with some scathing insults and such and I responded in turn and then it escalated from there, until I had leave and came to meet him." John explained, grinning.

"Will you be needing some more sheets than what is in the cupboard? There's only three sets, one for each bed and then a spare, but if you're both washing then there is only one set." Mrs Hudson asked.

John blushed slightly and shook his head, "We're, um,"

"Oh." Mrs Hudson realised as the man blushed, "It's fine dear, I'm used to all sorts nowadays. A few doors down, Mrs Turner, has two tenants, married those boys are. Adorable couple too, perhaps you might like to meet them? You and Sherlock?"

"Maybe not Sherlock." John chuckled, as Sherlock called from the lounge room.

"Boring!"

"Yeah alright, your majesty." John called back jokingly.

John got up and kept a hand trailing on the backs of the chairs and table until he reached the sink next to Mrs Hudson. His hand fumbled for the tea towel, and soon gripped it, carefully lifting the newly washed dishes and drying them.

Mrs Hudson returned to her flat half an hour later, having talked with John while washing the dishes and gotten to know the man the entire time. It wasn't until she was back in her own bedroom, unpacking, when she realised something obvious she had missed.

"Oh." She paused in her unpacking, staring up at the ceiling. A smile grew on her face, as she realised that what she had just realised meant that Sherlock was serious about this man, and wasn't just putting up with him for help with his Work.

* * *

A month later, and Lestrade called Sherlock down to the lab to have a look at the CCTV footage of a robbery. They couldn't figure out who had done it, but had seven hostages to question and had figured out one of them had done it, while the others weren't looking.

Sherlock came down, and Anderson was first to insult the man.

For once, Sherlock ignored him and played the video.

They watched it for a few seconds, Sherlock studying it intently, before he fast-forwarded it and then paused it.

"It was Geoff Haggard." Sherlock announced.

"Wait, the blind man?" Lestrade frowned.

"I think you would find he is faking the blindness. Has been for several months. His medical report says total blindness, with no reports of seeing changes in light or shadows." Sherlock said, standing up. "If that is all, I have another commitment to attend to."

"Wait, Sherlock, how do you know he is faking it, and how is he the one who did it?" Lestrade asked.

"You'll find he is faking it when you test his reflexes. When the glass shatters, he flinches, as anyone would, and then the lights go out. When they come back on, he reacts to the sudden change, blinking and wincing slightly. As for him, his pockets, they're empty. They originally held his phone and wallet, but when the lights come back on, they're gone. There are still objects in the pockets though, and he was attempting to hide the new objects in his possession by making people think they were his personal items still, but they're different sizes." Sherlock explained.

As Lestrade leaned in to look at the screen, Sherlock stood and left. Lestrade quickly ran after him.

"Sherlock, wait up, don't you want to help question him?"

Sherlock's phone started ringing. The Detective Inspector expected the man to ignore it, as he hated talking, but was surprised when the consulting detective stopped, pulled out his phone and answered it.

"I'm sorry, I'm running late at work." Sherlock answered the phone. Sherlock listened for a moment, and then said, "Hold on a moment." He lowered the phone away from his mouth, "I have plans Lestrade, can you handle it on your own?"

Lestrade nodded silently.

Sherlock nodded in return and left, walking down the corridor.

Lestrade stared after him, frowning as the man tried to figure out just who was Sherlock talking to. The man had actually sounded human, not kind or anything, but his voice had lacked its usual bite and had a layer of something that sounded like affection and fondness to it.

Sherlock laughed, and Lestrade heard it from down the corridor.

"Who the hell can make Sherlock laugh?" Lestrade muttered to himself.

* * *

Molly knew that Sherlock would never be interested in being with her, but she had always reassured herself that the man wasn't interested in anyone, so it wasn't that much of a rejection, but more, hopeless case that she chose to continue believing in, despite her knowledge that nothing would ever happen.

"Sherlock?"

Molly turned to see a man standing in the doorway, frowning as stood there. He was on the shorter side of average, and had short blonde hair. He was wearing glasses that had rectangular frames and were tinted a dark grey. Molly reasoned they were the glasses that tinted in the sunlight and had yet to revert back to normal glasses inside.

"Can I help you?" Molly asked politely.

He twitched, as if he had jumped slightly but had covered it up well, and smiled in her direction, "Sorry, I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes? Do you know him?"

"He's upstairs in the labs." Molly replied. "He'll be down here in a few minutes; the results he's been waiting for are nearly finished."

"OK, thank you." The man grinned, and went to duck back out of the room.

"You can wait in here if you'd like?" Molly offered.

"Thank you. I'm John." John smiled, moving into the room but sticking to the wall near the door, leaning against it casually.

Molly mentally shrugged, assuming the man was a little freaked out by mortuaries and left the man by the door. "I'm Molly, why are you looking for Sherlock?"

"We're having lunch together; he sent me a text to meet him here. Then the bloody bastard didn't show up." John laughed.

"Lunch?" Molly asked, suddenly alarmed. She did her best to hide it, keeping her face as normal as possible. She felt like she failed, as she stared with wide eyes at the man.

John nodded, oblivious to the woman's obvious surprise.

"I know, it's late, but the man's always late, so I've learnt to just suggest lunch at a later time than normal." John laughed.

"I meant to text you I would be late." Sherlock said, as he entered the lab. He didn't even glance at the results that were displayed on Molly's computer, just grabbed his coat and slipped it on, before tying the scarf around his neck. Sherlock then nodded to Molly, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll be here." Molly giggled nervously, staring openly as Sherlock moved to the door and grabbed John's hand, who allowed the taller man to drag him off.

"Bye Molly, nice to meet you." John called over his shoulder.

"Likewise." Molly called back, just as they left. She waited a moment, before her composure lost and tears began welling up in her eyes. They fell down her cheeks. It wasn't fair. He wasn't meant to be interested in anyone. Then his rejection of her didn't hurt. He didn't do feelings, he didn't do relationships.

Well, obviously he did.

* * *

It was a simple hostage situation, but Lestrade had been the nearest policeman with the ability to negotiate to the site. He had just picked up Sherlock to take him to the newest crime scene, and had the man with him in the police car for once. He pulled up to the site, just as Sherlock sighed and announced, "This is boring, they want money or they'll kill the hostages. Blah blah blah."

"Sherlock, I really do wish you would at least try to remember there are people in there, who have husbands and wives and kids and siblings to get home to." Lestrade sighed, approaching the officer who had called it in. Other police cars and officers were controlling the public, and had guns and eyes watching the bank across the street.

"Sir." The man nodded to Lestrade, then launched into a report. "They've got one of the hostages on the phone sir, communicating for them. He doesn't seem shaken up, but he says that there are eleven hostages, including himself, and the four criminals, all with guns."

"Is he still on the phone?" Lestrade asked.

"Yeah, they gave me time to get someone with the power here to answer their demands." The guy explained.

"Pass it here." Lestrade took the phone, and held it up to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hi."

"Who is this?"

Lestrade heard a voice talking in the background but couldn't make out the words.

"My name is John, I'm one of the hostages, but they wanted someone to act as a middle man so I, um, volunteered." John explained, something in his voice made Lestrade frown.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

John chuckled dryly, "Just a few bumps and bruises. I've had worse, don't worry. They've not hurt anyone else, either, but they say they will start soon if you don't give them what they want."

"Which is?"

"They want to be able to walk out, without you stopping them and arresting them, and they want to be able to drive away."

"Is that it?"

"No, they also want Sherlock Holmes."

Lestrade glanced up at said Holmes. "If we don't give in to their demands?"

"They'll start shooting us, one by one. Starting with the child in here with her mum." John told Lestrade.

"How long do I have before they need a response?"

John talked to them, the phone covered and muffling the words. "They say they expect Sherlock Holmes here in an hour. Otherwise they start shooting and leave here regardless of the lives they take."

"OK. An hour."

"Good luck."

Lestrade stared at the phone as the hostage hung up.

"What?" Sherlock asked in a bored tone. "Let me guess, they want money and an escape, or they'll shoot the children and women and then the men one by one?"

"They want an escape yes, but they also want you." Lestrade told him.

"Me? Why me?" Sherlock asked, suddenly interested.

"I don't know, John could only repeat what they were letting him say."

"John?" Sherlock suddenly focused on Lestrade, his face growing cold and serious. His interest and suddenly piqued glee (the glee he always had at a crime scene) disappeared.

"John, one of the hostages. They're using him as a mouth piece." Lestrade explained.

Sherlock held out his hand, "Give me your phone." Lestrade frowned, but handed it over. Sherlock typed in a number and listened to it ring.

Lestrade heard the ringing stop and vaguely heard a 'hello' from the mobile.

"Hi darling," The sudden cheer in his voice surprised Lestrade, but he shrugged it off as Sherlock acting. "Would you by any chance be able to pop out to the bank to withdraw some money?" Sherlock asked. He waited then his voice took on a more whiney note. "Are you sure? I'd do it myself sweetie, but I'm all tied up at work." He listened once more, then sighed, "See you soon. I'll be late home tonight."

He hung up and handed the phone back over. "There's eleven hostages, but six criminals, they've made John lie to give themselves an advantage." Sherlock said. "Here's the plan."

* * *

An hour later, Lestrade called back, and said they had contacted Sherlock, who had turned up, and was ready to come in, in exchange for some of the hostages. After a bit of haggling, the criminals released four hostages, the little girl, her mum and two elderly women, and Sherlock entered. Anderson had (reluctantly) attached a camera to his suit collar, and a microphone in his ear so the police could watch as Sherlock went inside, and communicate with the man. They watched as Sherlock entered the room to see six criminals, holding guns to six of the seven hostages left. The seventh hostage was sitting on the floor by the phone, a bloody wound on the side of his head and he had recently had a blood nose, judging by the blood on his mouth, chin and neck.

"Well I'm here, whoopie-doo." Sherlock announced in a tone heavily loaded with sarcasm.

"You, Sherlock Holmes, sent my son to prison." The main leader growled, leaving his hostage to stalk towards the consulting detective who sighed and shook his head.

"Really now, if you're going to stand up a bank, do it properly." Sherlock told him, before saying, "Right, right, left, jump."

"What?" The man said.

That was the last thing he said. Sherlock punched his right hand forward, knocking the other man out. He efficiently and quickly took out three other men, and turned to find the other two on the floor unconscious with the man who had been sitting by the phone standing over them.

The police stormed the place and began handcuffing the men and helping the hostages.

It was some time before Lestrade got to Sherlock to lecture him about risking hostages lives, and when he managed to get away from the cleaning up, he found the consulting detective sitting on the back of an ambulance, talking with John, the hostage who was being treated for a mild concussion and supposed shock.

The man didn't look shocked. Sherlock looked more shocked than the hostage.

"Sherlock," Lestrade started.

"Don't lecture me on what to do and not do to. They weren't going to shoot, even John could tell that, and I knew John would be able to handle a few of the men, leaving the rest for me to take care of." Sherlock interrupted.

"Sherlock, be nice." John nudged the man, who scowled briefly at Lestrade then turned to study John with a warm expression on his face that didn't belong. Lestrade couldn't help but stare as Sherlock ran gentle fingers over the small bandaging on the side of his head. "I'm fine Sherlock," John sighed, "Just a bit dizzy, but it's fine. It'll pass by morning."

Anderson interrupted the moment. "What the hell are you doing freak?"

Sherlock's fond expression tightened to show his displeasure, but didn't react otherwise. John, however did.

"Excuse me mate, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't insult my partner like that, just because you're jealous he's smarter than you. The fact you lower yourself to degrading comments and insults to make yourself feel better and superior to an intelligent man who is different to you says a lot about your character." John snapped.

Lestrade and Anderson stared at the man in shock.

"Partner? Why the hell would you want to be around the freak for extended periods of time, let alone involved with him?" Anderson snapped back, his disgust evident in his voice.

John sprang to his feet, and took a step forward, swinging his arm back, but wobbled and obviously grew dizzy. Lestrade reached forward to help the man stop himself from pitching forward, but Sherlock reached him first. The consulting detective gently wrapped an arm around John's waist and the back of his shoulders, helping him stay upright as the shorter man waited for his balance to return.

"Doctors really do make the worse patients." Sherlock commented softly. The tenderness in his actions and softness in his voice made it clear to the two yarders that he truly cared for the man clinging to him to stay upright.

"You're really lucky," John said to Anderson, "That I can't punch you without falling over. I don't care if you'd arrest me for assaulting a police officer, don't ever insult Sherlock again."

Anderson snorted and stormed off to where Donovan was standing.

Sherlock murmured something to John.

John sighed and relaxed back against Sherlock's chest. "Right, Christ I shouldn't have gotten up so quick." He muttered.

"Sherlock? Mind explaining here?" Lestrade asked.

"This is John Watson, my partner. John, this is detective inspector Lestrade." Sherlock introduced.

"Nice to meet you." John said, sticking out his arm. Lestrade shook it.

"How the hell did you meet Sherlock and end up together?" Lestrade asked, a little disbelieving.

John tensed and said curtly, "Look, I don't like being rude and mean like I just was, but if you're implying something bad about Sherlock, then I really must ask you stop and leave."

"You really have to stop being protective, my dear doctor." Sherlock said with a soft grin.

Lestrade tried his best not to stare but couldn't help it. The consulting detective never smiled, never showed emotion. Yet here he was with his arms still around another human being, smiling and evidently, feeling and expressing emotions.

"Someone has to look after you." John responded.

Sherlock reached behind him into the ambulance and pulled something out. He handed it to John and turned to Lestrade. "Text me tomorrow if you need help with that crime scene. I'm going home."

Lestrade nodded, and watched Sherlock grip John's hand and the pair walk away. He blinked, and then realised what had been different about John Watson.

* * *

A few months later, the yarders had their annual Christmas party, and Sherlock was forced into coming by Lestrade. Well, Lestrade knew it was actually one John Watson who convinced the consulting detective to come, but the man could pretend he was getting good at standing up to Sherlock and convincing the stubborn man.

They were allowed to bring their families, and many yarders turned up with wives, husbands, girlfriends and boyfriends. Sherlock did as well, despite everyone else doubting the fact that this man was supposedly _with_ Sherlock.

John was standing by himself, on the side of the room, leaning against the wall. Donovan and Anderson approached him.

"OK, so what's wrong with you?" Sally demanded. "For you to willingly live with Holmes, what's wrong with you?"

John didn't outwardly react, but Sherlock who was returning from seeing Lestrade, watched as his partner's knuckles turned white as he gripped the cup of soft drink in his hand tightly in an effort to control his anger.

"Look, stop insulting me and my partner and leave." John said in a cool, tight voice.

"But something has to be wrong with you. To hang around with the fre-Holmes. Are you like him?" Sally insisted.

John pushed himself off the wall and walked away, stepping carefully in the direction he knew Sherlock had left. Anderson pushed him back, "We're talking to you." Anderson snapped, annoyed the man would just walk off like that.

Anderson wasn't prepared for the man to not be able to regain his balance, or at the very least, he expected the man to be able to hit the wall and regain his balance. He did not expect John to stumble and flail and fall to the ground, dropping his drink with a loud smash, as glass shattered everywhere. John had flung his hands backwards to catch his fall, and as he hit the ground, there was a crack and John immediately snatched his hand into his chest, causing him to continue falling backwards until he landed on his back, left wrist clutched to his chest in his right hand.

"Fuck." John groaned, right hand moving from his wrist to his shoulder and back to his wrist, as if unsure which to hold, as if both were hurting him.

Sherlock shoved Anderson to the side and solved the issue for John, pulling his scarf off to press against his shoulder as blood started to seep through John's blue shirt. "Lestrade, ambulance." Sherlock shouted over his shoulder. The music had long stopped, and everyone was watching. "John? Keep your eyes open."

"Like that'll do any difference." John groaned. "Ow, it really hurts."

"Really John, I would never have guessed. You only broke your wrist, cut your hands and broke your stitches." Sherlock retorted sarcastically.

"And hit my head. I would probably have double-vision, I'm dizzy enough." John told Sherlock.

"Ambulance is on its way." Lestrade said. "Anderson, Donovan, leave, now." He told them. "You're on desk duty until further notice."

"What, I didn't mean for him to fall over." Anderson complained.

Sherlock stood to his feet, towering over the suddenly terrified man. "You only continually insulted a man for being in a relationship with me. You only continually demanded what was wrong with the man for being in love. You only shoved a blind man to the side, and then watched him stumble around, looking for a solid surface to catch his balance." Sherlock snapped, hatred evident in his voice and face. "I've never considered committing a murder of my own, despite what Donovan chooses to believe, but I am honestly considering it now."

"Sherlock, leave the bastard alone." John said, in a pained voice. He had managed to sit upright, and with his right hand he was feeling around for the wall, and missing it by inches each time.

Sherlock helped guide John to lean against the wall, and knelt next to him, scarf returning to covering the blood, putting pressure on the wound.

"Both of you. Leave." Lestrade repeated.

The pair left, terrified of Sherlock. Both were angry at being kicked out and punished, but Donovan was horrified that she hadn't realised John was blind and that in shoving him sideways, Anderson put him in severe risk of harm.

* * *

A week later, Sherlock appeared back at work, stalking into the office to see Lestrade. John trailing behind, a cane in his hand, sweeping back and forth in practiced but jerky movements. One hand was in a cast, but was holding the cane regardless. The other was in a sling, held against his chest.

"Lestrade! Please tell me you have something for me to do?" Sherlock demanded half way to the man's office door.

Anderson and Donovan were sitting at their desks, and as Sherlock entered the office room, John waited at the door calmly.

Donovan got up and approached John, making sure to walk in a way that allowed her high heels to click against the tiled ground.

"Thank you for walking loudly as a consideration, but it isn't necessary." John said as she got closer.

"Dr Watson," Donovan began, "I'm sorry -"

"Please, Sergeant Donovan, I appreciate the offer of apology, as I believe you truly are apologising honestly to me, and I accept so no need to feel guilty anymore, but don't worry about saying it, as yes you hurt me, but you also insulted my partner, and I know you aren't sorry about that." John interrupted her.

Donovan was speechless.

Sherlock came back out.

"Come on John, these idiots have nothing interesting to do." Sherlock sulked.

"There's that experiment of yours sitting in the sink at home?" John asked.

"What's the time?" Sherlock asked, spinning around to look at the clock. "Excellent, the cultures will have grown. Let's go."

The entire Scotland Yard watched as Sherlock willingly, _willingly_, took the man's arm and linked it around his, and led the man out in a hurry, John easily keeping up, footsteps sure and unhesitant. He had absolute trust in the crazy genius to not lead him into anything.

Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson disappeared from Scotland Yard as the elevator doors slid shut, but not before they saw John stretch up and press a chaste kiss to the man's neck. Sherlock grinned back.

**The End**


End file.
